Faith - Lesley Pearse [70]
‘Mrs Thompson isn’t very keen on coming down to the lounge,’ the plump, red-faced nurse who answered the door informed him. ‘Go on up to her room, it’s number six on the first floor, left at the top of the stairs.’
Stuart was horrified by the stale smell of old age and sickness permeating the home, even though it was tastefully appointed and spotlessly clean. It was very close too, with no windows open, but he supposed the old folks felt chilly when they couldn’t move around. He understood now why Belle had tried to put him off visiting her mother, and perhaps he shouldn’t have come.
He knocked tentatively on the door of number 6, expecting a feeble voice to reply, but to his surprise the door sprang open instantly, and there stood Lena.
She didn’t look much different to when he’d last seen her ten years earlier. She was more conventionally dressed in a button-through summer frock, her hair was grey and cut short and the lines on her face had deepened, but she certainly didn’t look like the old biddies he’d glimpsed downstairs.
‘Stuart!’ she exclaimed, clapping her hands over her mouth in shock at seeing him. ‘What a wonderful surprise! I thought it was that bloody old vicar who seems to think I need to put myself straight with God before I snuff it.’
Stuart laughed with relief. If she knew him instantly she clearly wasn’t senile, and that irreverent remark was typical of the kind of things she always used to say.
‘It’s good to see you again, Lena,’ he said, handing her the flowers. ‘May I come in?’
‘Please do, and quickly, before anyone catches me with a man in ‘my room,’ she said impishly. She sniffed the flowers appreciatively. ‘How lovely. Delphiniums and lilies, my absolute favourites.’
Lena’s room was large, overlooking the gardens, with its own en suite bathroom, where she quickly placed the flowers in the wash basin saying she would arrange them in a vase later. Everything looked reassuringly comfortable and homely. In fact Stuart remembered some of the furniture, pictures, lamps and ornaments from Duke’s Avenue. He saw she was still painting too; the small table in front of the window held her paint box, brushes and a large sketch pad. He felt an enormous sense of relief, for this was so much better than he had expected.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Lena asked. ‘It is after three, and a visit from you is worthy of a celebration.’ She opened a small cabinet and got out a bottle of single malt whisky, a mischievous expression on her face as if she was embarking on something wicked.
Stuart said he’d have a small one, and quickly explained how he’d been overseas and hadn’t heard about Jackie’s death until his return. ‘I’m so sorry, Lena. It must have been shattering for you, and even worse to lose Frank so soon after.’
‘Yes, it was,’ she nodded, her bright smile fading. ‘Absolutely awful! I was hanging on by a very slender thread after Jackie was killed, but when Frank went too the thread snapped. I’d known him since I was fifteen; he wasn’t just a major part of my life, but the whole of it. But I guess I’d been very lucky to have a perfect life for so long, and that my luck just ran out.’
A lump came up in Stuart’s throat, for she looked the way his mother had after his father died. Wistful but resigned, and not wishing to burden anyone else with her deep sorrow.
‘I wish I could find some words to comfort you,’ he said and moved forward to hug her. It was only as he held her that he realized she was far thinner and perhaps shorter than she used to be; she felt more like a child of twelve or thirteen than a grown woman.
‘Enough sympathy,’ she said, stepping back from him and turning to pick up their drinks. ‘I miss them both terribly, but I have to carry on. And I want to know where you’ve been and if you’ve made your fortune yet.’
Stuart smiled, for he knew that when he first met her he often used the expression ‘When I make my fortune’.